


Slate and Ivory

by canton



Series: Will Graham & Hannibal Are Dead [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, now with extra Richard Siken, unexpectedly canon-compliant Rosencrantz & Guildenstern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canton/pseuds/canton
Summary: Written for a color palette meme I was tagged in on Tumblr -- I fiddled with the light board and got this.





	Slate and Ivory

It was dark.

The sky was dark, and the sea. Will’s eyes, too, they were dark when he looked at Hannibal. “Night has fallen,” Hannibal had announced, drawing his attention. “At least that’s a development.” Will did not respond.

Hannibal looked over the darkened ship. Boat.  _Craft?_  he considered. No, craft was worked on stages. He imagined himself raising the moon on a crane, for effect. Its light would spill across the water like cream. He wondered if that would make Will say something, stir him like violins. He wanted to make this for him, a moment of cream and ink, where Will could be. He wanted —

“Will,” Hannibal began. And Will turned to him, cream and ink, Artemis eyed, and Hannibal gave up on the rest of that sentence as a bad job.

Will’s brows were drawn low, but he held his voice light. “Am I still making our ending?” he asked.

This Hannibal could manage. “We all make our endings, in one way or another.”

“Though only some make other people’s as well.”

“Gods and tragedians. Aiming for the point where everyone who is marked for death, dies.”

“Marked.”

“In this way.”

Will’s fingers spread on the wheel. “Are you?”

Will did not need to ask about himself. Hannibal wondered if Will knew how beautiful his doom looked on him.

“In certain lighting, I shouldn’t wonder,” he replied, then tilted his head up to the moon, rising on cue, after all.

Sometimes, Hannibal thought he could smell candle flame, a ripple in the brine and sailcloth. He strung up the moments in his head like a map of the stars, traced them together to find the pattern. It came up “Will,” but that wasn’t helpful — everything came up Will.

And  _sometimes_ , Hannibal’s interest in his own powers of observation served to occlude his powers of observation. It was so here. In his reverie, he hadn’t noticed that Will had slipped closer, was slipping right into his arms, pressing into him point by point like the stars in his head. And oh, and candle, flickering through his hair.

“If I’m to be dead,” Will informed his collar, “I’m taking you with me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hannibal assured him, and steadied his arms around the small of Will’s back.

**Author's Note:**

> how many times can I get away with the fatalistic snuggle ending
> 
> idk maybe I'll stop doing it when the show stops doing it amiright


End file.
